


High Stakes

by Superdaisies



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, M/M, NHL 16, Video game tournament, haus shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6523528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superdaisies/pseuds/Superdaisies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Board games were strictly illegal inside Haus walls. Video games, on the other hand, were openly encouraged.<br/>OR Ransom and Holster make everyone participate in an Xbox EA NHL 16 Tournament to the death</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Participation is Graded

**Author's Note:**

> I am shameless in my inspiration from the Achievement Hunter hockey tournament.

Board games were strictly illegal inside Haus walls. Video games, on the other hand, were openly encouraged. More gloves were dropped in the living room over an ill-timed blue shell than on the actual ice. Shitty had once tried to channel this aggression into friendly competition, though Strip Super Mario Bros. in the November snow had not gone over well with the coaches. Most team members, however, would rank it within their top three best moments naked.

Ransom and Holster were determined to keep this legacy alive in any way they could. And thus, the idea of the great EA NHL 16 Tourney was born.

“Haus meeting!” Holster bellowed, his voice loud enough to carry through the entire building, “Everyone downstairs now!” Ransom wheeled his whiteboard out, setting up the sofas in the living rom to be able to simultaneously face it and the television.

Chowder was the first one down the stairs, followed quickly by Dex, Nursey, and Farmer. Caitlin pulled on her sweatshirt, preparing to brace the cold February air, when Holster grabbed her shoulder and steered to the Green Couch of Sin.

“Sorry, but this involves you too,” he shook his head, winking at Chowder.

Bitty appeared next, poking his head put of the kitchen, “Is this really urgent? Because I was just about to start some—“

“Sit, Bit,” Holster pointed to a spot on the floor far away from the sofa of Death. Bitty huffed.

Lardo was last to arrive, sauntering down the stairs like she had all the time in the world. She raised an eyebrow at the whiteboard, where Ransom was attempting to draw something resembling a bracket.

“Oh Jesus don’t tell me we’re doing this,” she mumbled in the general direction of Holster as she moved to sit on the floor in front of the Frogs, leaning against Nursey’s knees.

“Oh, yes! You asked for it, you got it!” Holster cried, in the same loud bass he’d used to get everyone in the Haus in one spot.

“I… I never asked for anything like this,” Dex whispered.

“What exactly _is_ this?” Bitty inquired, raising his hand in the air.

Ransom reached behind the whiteboard, pulling out two Xbox controllers and a small stack of index cards. He looked around the room, his smile growing, “Gentlemen, ladies,” he winked at Farmer, “Welcome, the great NHL tournament of two thousand sixteen. Many legends before us have fought it out on the ice. Grezky, Limeux, Zimmermann, Zimmermann, Crosby. And now, it’s your turn. We know you can play hockey. But can you play…” He paused dramatically as Holster turned the TV on to reveal the start screen of NHL 16, “Digital hockey!”

The frogs groaned and Bitty stood up. Lardo flopped forward face first on the floor.

“We have each of your names written down on a card. When we call you, pick your team,” Hoster announced, placing each index card in one of Ransom’s extra Snapbacks. The groans of the other team members turned into cries of annoyance.

“What are the rules?”

“Do we all have to play?”

“I don’t know how to play this!”

“I’ve got things to bake, I don’t want to…”

“Mmmmmmfff”

“Everybody, everybody, listen. Settle down. This is going to be fun!” Holster walked behind the sofa, trying his best to place his long arms around all four people.

“Rules are simple. We call your name, you pick your team. The order we call you is the order in the bracket. All of you are playing, because we need 8 people for this to work. Playoff rules, Farmer that’s best of seven games to move on to the next round.”

“You know I know how hockey works, right?”

“What do we get if we win?” Nursey asked, crossing his arms in from of his chest.

“Possibly playoff tickets. Possibly a burrito. We’re not positive yet.”

Nursey shrugged, satisfied with the answer.

“Alright! Lets go!” Holster boomed, mixing up the folded index cards in the hat. He held it towards Ransom, who dutifully pulled out one from the bottom of the bunch.

“First round picks go to…” Ransom unfolded the card and his eyebrows shot up, “Damn. Alright. First pick, Larissa Duan.”

She got to her feet and bounded to the front of the living room. She swayed from side to side, staring at the bracket board and the list of teams on the tv screen. She looked like she was weighing her options with each team, determining the pros and cons of each, as if she would actually be managing the real life equivalent of the team she picked.

After a painfully long minute, Bitty let out a soft cough and Holster nudged her shoulder. She took another second of mock thought before turning back around and walking up to the whiteboard and writing Lardo over the first bracket space.

“My name is Lardo and I pick,” she took a dramatic deep breath, making Bitty and Chowder laugh, “theprovidencefalconers.”

The words rushed out of her mouth and everyone booed. Bity rolled his eyes at her and Lardo responded with a quirked eyebrow and a blown kiss.

“Alright, settle down. For as sad as I know we all are, we have to remember that this is Lardo’s world and we’re just living in it. No one here has the power to veto,” Holster said, as he wrote _Falcs_ on the board and drew a little doodle of a bird in a triangle.

Bitty held his phone up to his ear, as if to take a phone call that obviously was not happening, “Um, yes Falconers? Hey y’all. Yeah it’s Bitty. Why of course I’ll be there on Saturday! Oh you want me to bring the cookies, yes of course! Oh! By the way, some friends of mine are having a video game competition, and they’re not letting me play as you! I know! Such a shame. Bless her heart, I’ll let her know you said that. Yeah. Yeah. Thank you. Alright. Bye,” He fake hung up the phone and glanced over at Lardo. Eric shook his phone at her, “So the team says they can veto. And I get the Falcs.”

“Too late, Bits. Just because you’re getting a piece of a Falconer’s _providence_ doesn’t mean you’re getting it digitally. They’re mine,” she winked as he turned bright red.

“Alright, all those in favor of moving the subject away from our friend’s peen and on to the next spot, say aye,” Ransom cried, moving to shuffle the hat again and hold it out for Holster to pull from.

“Next up for picks is… Derek Nurse.”

“Boston Bruins”

“Fuck!” Ransom and Holster cried out in unison. Nursey didn’t even bother to get up off the couch. They wrote his name under Lardo’s, followed by _bruins_ and a crappy drawing of a B in a circle. Holster pushed the hat back to Ransom, and the third card was chosen.

“Hey! Eric Bittle, you’re up.”

“Hm…. Hawks, I guess.”

“Hey maybe he’s getting laid with them too!”

“I don’t want to draw their logo.”

 _Bitty_ went on the next spot under Nursey’s, and _blackhawks_ was written next to him, sans doodle.

“Who will be last up in the West, Justin? Let’s find out,” Holster grabbed the fourth card, “Yeah, man! It’s you! Bro, who do you pick?”

“Well since _someone_ took the Bruin, I gotta rep for the home town. Maple Leafs.”

“Hmm, alright, alright. Risky, but I like it.”

Ransom wrote his own name on the board, next to a little drawing of a maple leaf. Holster unfolded the next card.

“Take your pick, Billiam Poindexter!”

“San Jose Sharks”

“WHAT??”

“I’m kidding. Las Vegas Aces.”

“Bitty, you gonna call them too? Maybe our best friend Kent can give Dexy some pointers.”

Everyone groaned, but _Dex_ and a little drawing of a spade were put on the board.

“Ok, sixth person. Chirs cho-“

“SAN JOSE SHARKS!” Chowder jumped off the couch and wrote his name himself, along with _SHARKS_ and an incredibly detailed drawing of their image.

“What? Really? I would have never guessed. Wow,” Holster said flatly, his voice lacking any hint of emotion. Ransom went to stir the hat.

“Uh, bro, I think we fucked up. There’s only one card left.”

“No way, bro! I made sure to include Farmer.”

“Yup. This is her card. Dumbass that means you forgot yourself.”

“Oh. Oops,” Holster said in his best imitation of Patrick Star, which made Ransom laugh hysterically, “Whatever, I’ll just go last. Farmer’s next.”

“Hmm….. And we can’t pick a team that someone’s already taken?”

“Nope.”

She turned to Chowder, whose lap she was practically already sitting in due to the size of the sofa. A very stern look fell on her face. “Honey how much do you value this relationship? Because I need you to trust me.” He looked confused but nodded. “Alright,” Farmer moved her attention back to Holster, “Kings.”

Chowder went pale and stood up abruptly, practically throwing Caitlin onto Lardo. He took a deep breath and ran into the kitchen. Just as Bitty got up to go after him, Chris returned, a small stack of cookies in hand.

“Farmer, I hope that this doesn’t put a strain on our relationship. I love you,” he muttered to her as he took his seat again and passed her a cookie. By the time everyone had focused back to the bracket, _Farmer, kings_ and _Holster, Sabres_ had joined the rest, filling in the last bracket.

“Bro, the fucking Sabres? What the hell?”

“You’ll never catch me alive supporting the Rangers, dude. Like you said, gotta rep the home down.”

“Mad respect, dude.”

Holster turned, throwing the controllers to Lardo and Nursey. “Falcs versus Bruins starts now. We go in order, so after this will be Bitty and Ransom.” A digital version of Jack appeared on the screen and Bitty took a not-so-sly snapchat of it.

“Like we said, best of seven, so first to four. Then we move on to semi finals, and then finals.”

            “May the best hockey player, manager, or volleyball player, win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's going to show up next chapter. I'm sorry. I promise.


	2. Go for Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say it was the tournament of the century. That "some" is made up of Ransom and Holster.

To say that Bitty tried at playing NHL16 would have been an unrealistic statement. He knew it was within his gaming abilities to be dece a Mario Kart, and he liked the one player stuff like Animal Crossing, but he had never ventured too far into the gaming industry. Why bake a virtual pie when you can bake a real one?

So when his final score against Ransom was 0-4, he had didn’t lose any tears. Ransom, on the other hand, had jumped to his feet and began bouncing on the Couch of Death, in a celly that would have been more appropriate when winning the actual Cup.

Bitty, first to be eliminated had gotten up to make a “condolence pie,” and returned as a voyeur from the doorway only once the pie was in the oven. He knew the weekend devoted to a non-stop hockey tournament would lead to many hungry competitors.

Nursey was the next to leave the competition, having only won one game against Lardo.

“Derek Nurse, you are not America’s next Top Model,” Holster cried, and Lardo stood to give him a solid ten-second burp of honor.

Chowder lost to Dex in the next rotation. No one had expected him to stand such good odds, let alone win two of the six games they played. He lost the first three quickly, yelling at the television whenever his goalie would move on his own accord.

“Bro, you know you can’t just be Joner the whole time. Like, you gotta play offense too,” Nursey reminded him, smirking at Dex. Chowder, armed with the strategy of utilizing half his team, took two games, which made Dex worry.

In the end, however, Chowder got his players confused, sending a digital Martin Jones in entirely the wrong direction, allowing Dex to score the game-winning goal.

Holster was the last to be eliminated. He had won the first two games against Farmer, who had struggled to learn the controls and strategy of the game. But by the third, she hit her stride, winning three straight games. The sixth  was intense, and Holster was unyielding, tying the score. But by the seventh, she had secured her spot in the semi finals, 4-3.

Ransom grabbed Holster’s shoulders and Lardo took the controller out of his hands. If there was a lesson to be learned from the Catan Incident of 2012, it was that Holster and the window had a difficult relationship.

Regardless of Holster’s tantrum, semifinals proceeded as planned.

 

\--

Lardo and Ransom faced off every night for a week straight. In the end, however, Lardo’s managerial mind for hockey strategy outplayed Ransom’s ability to perform the tasks in real life. As a miniature Jack Zimmermann nabbed the puck and took it down the ice, the whole haus cheered. Lardo moved to the finals, beating a steamed Ransom 4-2.

“Miss Lardo!” Holster cried out in a fake reporter voice, sitting on his knees, holding out his hand as if he was holding a real microphone, “How do you feel, going into the Stanley Cup Finals?”

She slumped over, pretending to wipe sweat off her forehead. When she looked up, her face was void of any emotion, her eyes squinted and a little sad. She spoke up, monotone, in an overdramatic Canadian accent, “Well, ya know. We gotta real good team this year. We’re playing really solid games out there. Our defense is strong. And our offense is also… there. We’re a team, eh? And we have to… do team things. On the ice. While we play hockey. Teams win together. Teams die together. Teams jack each other off. Thank you.”

“Miss Lardo, one more question. Speaking of jacking off, it was a pretty big risk, taking on rookie Jack Zimmermann. How do you feel now?”

“Ah yeah. Jack. Mister Jack Zimmermann. Zimm- uh I forgot what the kids are calling that son of a bitch nowadays. Well, Jack had great performance on the ice. Unfortunately, he didn’t return any of my texts last week, and that’s a major fuckin’ douche move, according to the Bro Code. But I _do_ hear he has time to sext his boyfriend. So, you know, I might not pick him as an optimal player next season. Might just trade him. Who knows,” Lardo looked right at Bitty’s phone, knowing that Jack would be seeing the recording eventually, if he wasn’t already on FaceTime. Her face was still dead serious, “But I hear he’s got a wicked dick, if you catch my meaning. Which is always something I look for in my starting line. I hope he can take me all the way to the Stanley Cup this year. Thank you.”

 

\--

Farmer’s entry into the finals was the greatest upset in the tournament by far. She had been practicing, any time Chowder was free, and had gotten skilled at moving from player to player, mastering as much of a play as one could have with so many computer controlled characters.

Nursey felt bad for Dex, the night of the final game, with Farmer leading three points to Dex’s one. She took control of Quick’s character, stopping another one of digital Parse’s shots.

By the next face off, Dex had had enough. His hands smashed the Xbox controller buttons, trying to find the one that would start the fight.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” Holster and Ransom yelled, showing Farmer which buttons to press to reciprocate the aggressive actions.

“This isn’t necessary, is it?” Chowder cried, looking over at Farmer with instinctive worry.

“Yeah man. Chill. Just ‘cuz she’s winning doesn’t mean you’ve got to take it out in the game.”

“PUNCH PARSE! PUNCH PARSE! PUNSH PARSE!” Bitty and Lardo shouted, even louder than the captains.

Kent’s gloves dropped and he lunged at Carter, but by the time Dex had time to make him take another swing, Farmer had Parse pinned to the ice, his health bar slowly ticking down with every hit.

Farmer joined Lardo in the finals, after winning 4-1, and Bitty was satisfied with the sight of a digitized Kent Parson with a black eye.

 

\--

Finals came the weekend after returning from Spring Break. According to Ransom, this event would be a grand affair, one part kegster and one part competition to the death. Everyone on campus was invited, as well as anyone who had ever heard of a Samwell Men’s Hockey party. A rumor was spread that Sid Crosby had a $500 bet on Farmer.

Posters were made and hung around school, Team Lardo against Team Farmer. Farmer fans were painting it as an underdog story, telling the tale of how brave Caitlin rose above them to slay the beast that was the men’s hockey team. Lardo fans, more commonly known as the art department, put every waking hour into propaganda and memorabilia. Lardo shirts were sold around campus, and fliers were taped to every window of Founders.

Everyone in the Haus had spent all day getting the place ready for the party. Bitty had been in the kitchen al day, working on massive quantities of snacks that he had refined for party eaters. Ransom took Nursey and Dex to Murder Stop and Shop to get as much alcohol as he could.

“This is such a bullshit trope,” Lardo whispered, feet dangling off the edge of the reading room.

“What do you mean?” Farmer responded, shaking her head at the joint that was offered to her.

“Like, women, pitted against each other. Competing and stuff. Like there’s people at school who honest to god think that they can’t like you as a person _and_ me as a person.”

“Oh yeah. I getcha. Like I had a guy come up to me a few days ago and tell me he was really excited to crush you. I’m like, please don’t? Lardo’s my friend first”

“Exactly! You’re my friend, Farms; you’re so cool. And just because we’re competing tonight doesn’t mean I won’t think you’re cool tomorrow.”

“Lardo, that means, like, so much to me. Thank you. And tomorrow, even once I’ve won, I’ll still think you’re cool too.”

Lardo let out a laugh and shoved Farmer’s shoulder slightly, “Yeah right.”

“Hey Lards!” Holster shouted from the ground up at the two girls, “Can I get some help? We’re going to move the sofa into the yard and have you guys play outside tonight and everyone can watch.”

“On it!” she yelled back, shimmying up to the window. Peaking her head in, she called out, “Hey! I heard a rumor that Holster would definitely give his dibs to whoever helped move the green sofa from the living room to the front yard.”

Whiskey and Tango, fully immersed on Chowder’s floor in cutting out small fleece diamonds for one of Lardo’s art projects, immediately jumped to their feet, racing down the stairs. By the time Lardo had turned back to Farmer, a beat up station wagon had pulled into the driveway. Caitlin crawled to the window, claiming she was going to go find out what Chowder was doing.

Holster was the first to cry Shitty’s name as the man got out of his car and walked up to the Haus. Shitty sent a small wave up to Lardo, beaming, and some of her anxieties melted away.

“Uh oh,” she heard Tango call out from the porch below her. From the rattle that came from the walls, Lardo pieced together that the sofa had gotten stuck in the door.

“We just have to rotate it a bit. I’ll push, ok”

“My arms are tired, Whiskey.”

“Tango I _swear_ if you drop this couch on me…”

Shitty looked from the Tadpoles to Lardo, and dropped to one knee. He lifted his arms and yelled, “Lardo, sweet Lardo, let down your hair! This stereotypically helpless fair maiden, this trope damsel in distress, needs me, a man of questionable competency, to save her from a terrible situation. Because sexism is fairy tale fuel. Lardo! I will save you!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, easing herself over the edge of the reading room, until she could feel Shitty’s hands on her legs, wrapping around her calves. Once she figured he was in a position to catch her, she let go, and dropped into his arms.

“Hey, don’t want to damage the next Haus Stanley Cup champion, do we?” he said softly, not breaking eye contact as he put her on the ground gingerly. Shitty placed a kiss on her forehead before moving to help unstick the sofa from the doorway.

“Maybe once the couch is on the curb, it should stay there!” Bitty called out the kitchen window.

“Not on your life, Bittle”

 

\--

            Next to arrive was Jack. To Tango’s dismay, Sid Crosby was not hiding in his SUV, and did not, in fact, have a $500 bet on Farmer. However Jack did come with a small video of the Falconers wishing Lardo good look and promising they would be playing their best for her.

As Lardo watched her video on Jack’s phone, he made his way into the kitchen. Bitty had placed yet another batch of cookies in the oven.

“It’s a bit over kill, don’t you think?” Jack said, eyeing the table and countertops already overflowing with cookies and other baked treats. Bitty smiled and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Jack, of course, knew by now not to question Bitty’s baking decisions.

He leaned down, dropping a slow kiss on to Bitty’s lips, making sure to note how much time he had on the timer. As soon as the alarm rang, he knew, any intimate welcome from his boyfriend was over. There wasn’t too much else Jack could list that could interrupt Bitty.

“Oh oops! I didn’t know I was intruding!” Tango interrupted. Bitty’s cheeks were red, but his lips were redder, as he hid his face from the Tadpole, who was looking more like a deer in the headlights.

“Man, you know not to go in the kitchen once Jack gets here! Fifteen minute rule, remember?” Nursey chided, pulled him back into the living room.

“Oh yeah. I’m sorry. It’s like, walking in on your parents making out. No. Wait. It’s like walking in on you mom and Ryan Reynolds kissing in your house.”

“Dude you don’t even live here.”

Jack laughed and rolled his eyes at Bitty, who smiled through his blush.

 

\--

“Hey so I’ve got a question.”

“Yeah I figured you did. It’s your major initial defining characteristic so far.”

“Did you guys allow frogs to participate in the tournament when you lived here, Johnson?”

“Well, if I’m being honest, Tango, there’s no way for me to really answer that. Because, lets face it, this isn’t even close to canon. This is a piece of fan fiction, a fiction universe _for_ a fictional universe. It’s twice as not real. So no, that wasn’t a rule.”

“Oh. Because Holster said the tadpoles couldn’t participate. And that’s why Whisk and the other guys and I weren’t involved in the top eight players. Why did they let Farmer in the bracket before any of us?”

“Kid, you didn’t exist in the source material when the author of this particular fan fiction started writing it. And she didn’t want to use ‘unnamed tadpole’ as a main character of the competition. So she put Farmer in, and I think that was a totally good idea too, because Farmer isn’t in enough fan stuff, or the actual comic really. So she put Farmer up against Lardo for the final, it’s been the plan the whole time. But then, out of nowhere, you and Whiskey show up. And the author likes you, so she wants to include you. So, I guess it’s king of lazy, but it’s also 3 am on a school night for the author, so you and Whiskey got thrown in to this chapter, just like Jack and Shitty and now me. And she gave Holster a kind of dumb excuse for why you weren’t in the first chapter. And now she’s writing everything I’m saying, because lets face it I’m the best fan fiction cop out. She knows everything I’m saying. Like this. And this.”

“Oh…… uh, thanks, I guess.”

“No prob, kid”

 

\--

“Ladies! Gentlemen! All other people with nonconforming identities! Welcome to the first Annual NHL 16 Tournament Finals!” Ransom yelled through Shitty’s Megaphone, “the games are about to begin, so find a place to watch. Caitlin Farmer. Versus Lardo Duan!”

The crowd, already fairly drunk, cheered with exuberance.

Holster formed a huddle around the two girls, as Ransom got the crowd pumped up.

“I want a clean fight tonight. All bloodshed should happen in the game itself, got it?” Lardo and Farmer nodded silently, each brandishing their own war paint. Holster continued, “Alright, good. We’ve got everyone riled. Now let’s give them a show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Finale! Who will win?   
> Plus a rematch no one saw coming.


End file.
